


one thousand

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, my apologies, pointless and shameless fluff, the language is a little more flowery than I usually write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire counts their kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one thousand

Their first kiss is starlight and fire and warm coffee on a cold day.

It makes Grantaire smile, huge and happy and like he hasn’t felt in years. Combeferre pulls away to look at him, thin lips quirking up into a tiny grin and cheeks pink like soft carnations. Grantaire laughs, soft and almost a little unlike him and Combeferre leans in to kiss him again. It’s softer now, a gentle warmth coursing through them and somehow more pure. Grantaire smiles against the other man’s lips as Combeferre slides his hands around his waist and squeezes his hips.

Grantaire chronicles their kisses for a while, the pecks on the cheek and the long presses of lips on bare shoulders, until Combeferre asks what he’s doing one day.

It’s been four months almost to the day since they first got together, and Combeferre has just pointed this fact out. Grantaire is grinning stupidly at his lap, where he’s doodling an abstract mess of colours in his sketchbook. Combeferre is watching him, absently tracing circles into the side of Grantaire’s neck where his hand rests.

Combeferre leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. The other man looks at him, blue eyes like sparkling ice, and closes his sketchbook.

“Ninety nine,” he says quietly, and Combeferre raises an eyebrow, trailing his hand down from Grantaire’s neck to map out the line of his hipbone, “that was our ninety ninth kiss.”

“You’re counting?” Combeferre smirks warmly, so much so that it reaches his eyes and the tiniest of creases appear at their corners. He’d noticed, absently, that Grantaire sometimes stopped kissing him to write a number hurriedly into the centre of his palm or to mutter something under his breath.

Grantaire blushes fuchsia, looking down at his lap and twisting his hands together.

“I’ll stop, if you want. If it’s making you uncomfortable I’ll-”

He’s cut off by Combeferre leaning forward and connecting their lips firmly. Grantaire makes a muffled noise of protest for all of five seconds before he relaxes into his boyfriend and kisses him back, knotting his fingers into Combeferre’s sandy brown hair. Combeferre pulls away a moment later, smiles at him and mumbles ‘one hundred’ before he kisses him again.

 

When they get married a year later (something which, according to Courfeyrac, who is telling literally anyone who will listen, was inevitable from the moment they first kissed) Combeferre turns to Grantaire at the end of the service, leans in to kiss him and says ‘one thousand’ before gripping his waist and kissing him hard. Their guests applaud and Combeferre blushes and laughs as he pulls away, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“No,” Grantaire beams, his face aglow with happiness, “one thousand and one.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but hey. needless fluffy drabble.
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://badlydressedbahorel.tumblr.com/)! c:


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